


An Archangel's Guide To Not Being A Prick

by munchmulch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Archangel Idiots, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale off the shits, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Get along au, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Ineffable Spouses, Minor Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens), Multi, Other, Please raise your hand if you're not a serial killer, Protective Archangels, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), This is just a fic about everyone being dumbass', Wingmen Haster and Ligur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/munchmulch/pseuds/munchmulch
Summary: It's outright alarming really, when Aziraphale stumbles through a nervous explanation of his nemesis' demonic wiles and floods the room with a wave of love stronger than any of them have felt in heaven for eons.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 306
Collections: Most Favs, Quick Reads





	An Archangel's Guide To Not Being A Prick

**Author's Note:**

> forgotten apocalypse get along au - original get along au by [rysttle](https://rysttle.tumblr.com/)

Reality can be somewhat more fickle than is strictly comfortable. The idea of multiple universes, layered over each other and never-ending, is a neat idea1 but thinking about it for too long tends to give people headaches.

However, if you were to take multiverse theory into account and accept it as truth you might eventually accept that as unlikely as it may seem, as utterly bamboozling the concept, there must exist a universe in which four particular Archangels are not complete wankers.2

A universe in which Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphon, though they may not express it competently, genuinely care for the angels working under them. A universe in which their collective capacity to sense and understand love hasn't been crushed under the shiny boot of corporatization. A universe in which they try their best to listen and nod along as the earthbound Principality Aziraphale delivers a somewhat incomprehensible report of his last few decades on earth. 

Well, you'd understand then why it's concerning, outright alarming really, when Aziraphale stumbles through a nervous explanation of his nemesis' demonic wiles and floods the room with a wave of love stronger than any of them have felt in heaven for eons. 

It's Michael who speaks first. Breaking through the stunned science of the others and interrupting Aziraphale’s stuttered attempt at explaining what a motorway is and why it's quite a clever idea to use it for demonic activity. 

"Aziraphale." He stops talking immediately, wringing his hands before quickly tucking them behind his back. "You, ah." Michael is not accustomed to feeling at a loss and they are not particularly enjoying it. "You are particularly fond of motorways then? Human innovation and all that, I suppose." Quite sweet of the principality really, loving the humans this much. 

A smile lights up Aziraphale's face, more honest than what he was wearing before. "Oh, oh yes! They are quite clever aren't they? I'm told that I stay just a smidge behind the times, but it is really just lovely to see what they come up with." 

And all four of them are paying attention now, focused, the scent of blood3 in the water. 

It’s true there’s love in Aziraphale’s new smile as he compliments the humans, but it has a different flavor, calmer and more contained than the flash of it when he was talking about . . . 

"The demon, Crowley." Uriel's face and voice are both direct, cutting right to the heart of what they are all now just a little hysterically worried about. "Tell us about him, what he’s like." 

The nerves are immediately back and Aziraphale rocks back on his heels chuckling nervously "Oh, well. They're not actually a he right now, taking a bit of a break, I think, uhm." True panic is starting to squeak into the angel's voice, "But really, a-a truly terrible fiend! You know, they skip right past personal temptations and go for the, the wider effect!” His hands start flitting around with the words “Small wiles which hit quite a few humans at one time, laying just a bit of sinful tarnish with not as much effort!” Aziraphale hesitates, “Not that they don’t put in a lot of effort . . ." He coughs self-consciously. "And they received a commendation for the second world war a while back, nasty stuff, very demonic." Hit with the distinct possibility that he’s been rambling, Aziraphale snaps his mouth closed, an embarrassed flush blooming on his corporation's face. 

The Archangel's reactions to being hit with a renewed blast of love are varied. Sandalphon gasps, scandalized. Michael takes a step back, a vaguely horrified look on their face. Uriel squints as if the wave of love is actually physically blinding. And Gabriel discovers for the very first time the corporal horror of sweat. 

Trying to ignore the new unpleasant sensation Gabriel claps his hands together, "Well, sunshine, you're right!" He tries on a winning smile and looks Aziraphale very pointedly in the eye. "That all sounds very, very, demonic." He nods with the demonic and then tries to push the point home, "evil, you know, not like you! Doing good work and all." 

Aziraphale shifts nervously, eyes darting on and off of Gabriel's intense purple eyed stare "Er, y-yes?" 

"Demonic." Gabriel chops one hand down into the palm of the other. 

Sandophon titters a nervous little "Heh heh" of a laugh and everyone falls silent again, eyes boring into the increasingly panicked Principality. 

"A-ah, should I, go then?" When none of them respond Aziraphale simply shuffles awkwardly backwards until he's no longer in sight. 

Only when he's gone does Gabriel spin to face the other archangels, hands flung dramatically in the air. "What do we _do?"_

*** 

So here is the first fact, Principality Aziraphale Guardian Of The Eastern Gate, is in love with a demon. 

The second fact is that it is most definitely their fault. 

Gabriel looks positively distraught "We've neglected him, haven't we!" 

Uriel has started pacing "We may have miscalculated how much time he could handle on earth alone." 

"So, are we going to smite it?" The three other Archangels turn to Sandalphon who looks a bit smug about the prospect, "The demon."

Michael is flicking their phone into their palm a look of intense concentration on their face. "No. Not yet. We need more information." 

Gabriel nods almost cutting Michael off with how quick he pipes up. "Yes, yes, of course. I'm sure this is just a huge misunderstanding." He spins and points to Uriel, "Uriel you're on first observation shift!" At her blank stare he chops his hand into his palm again, “And be subtle!” 

Uriel blinks, frowns. ". . . Subtle." 

*** 

While Uriel descends the heavenly escalator and struggles with the notion that Gabriel has known her for over six-thousand years and seems to have no idea where her strengths lie4, a demon is receiving a baffling call. 

"The demon Crowley?" Ligur flicks his tail lazily against the back of his human corporation's neck. 

"No, an aardvark. Yes I need information on Crowley!" 

"Hmm. Alright, long as you’re paying. Don't know if there's really much to say though." 

"What is -" Ligur can hear a frustrated huff of breath from the other end of the line, "What are they like? What’s their reputation?" 

Ligur hums, thinking it over. Michael isn't paying enough in favors to get Ligur's honest opinion so he opts for what hell thinks the snake's deal is. "Bit of a flash bastard. All slinky and picky about things like 'grooming', says soap makes lust temptations easier but they've never actually reported any lust accomplishment for deed of the day." That's probably a bit too far from what Michael is looking for. "Really bizarre work record. Holds horrible powerpoint presentations about wide scale torments that are supposed to tempt a bunch of humans just a bit and get a net value, or something. But then they'll pop out of the blue with something truly evil that none of us have heard a hiss of until it's already over. Spanish Inquisition, world wars, that whole thing with genocidal cow colds and that bugger who was taking people's hands when they wouldn't bring him gold . . . small pot? Might’ve been called." 

The angel on the other end of the line gasps and Ligur raises an eyebrow. He's never known Michael to be shocked by violence. Something else must be going on.

When Michael speaks next their voice is shaky. "A-and, their relationship with their nemesis, the Principality Aziraphale? How much do you know about that." 

An emotion jolts through Ligur, one he's displeased to identify as concern. Damn flash bastard and all the grief and odd consolatory feelings they bring into his life. Damn the featherduster and his stupid bloody tea5. Keeping his voice casual Ligur responds with the answer Crowley gave the first dozen times Hastur asked about the angel. "Oh, properly loathes him, seems like. Always moaning and complaining about the fussy lil bastard. Gets in the way of him burning down orphanages, you know." In an uncharacteristic stroke of creativity Ligur ads, "they did a lotta stabbing each other over the M25, Fussywings going for the whole noble martyr thing." Fuck, that'll fall apart if Michael questions the Aziraphale. "Might not have told your lot ‘bout that, from what Crowley says the angel's a proud little thing." On a roll now Ligur adds, "and you know, the snake threatens him not to tell. Proper nemesis stuff that." That one was probably going too far. Dang. 

Ligur prepares himself to backpedal when the click on the other end of the line lets him know that Michael has hung up. 

Well, that was a thing. 

He better call Crowley. 

***

Uriel is _not_ subtle. It takes about an hour of observing Aziraphale from in front of one of the bookshop windows before the Principality comes out and asks if he can help her. 

She turns to him, back straight and arms held behind her. "I'm observing. Feel free to carry on." 

Aziraphale's eyes dart around the bustle of foot traffic. "Ah. Yes, well. Would you mind terribly observing inside? I believe you're drawing a bit of attention, my dear." 

Uriel considers, and then nods, following Aziraphale back into the shop. It's unlikely he'll interact with the demon while either of them know Uriel's there but she'll feel better guarding Aziraphale from within the shop. 

Half an hour later she's fully set up in an armchair with a mug of scotch and a mix of art history and poetry books to work through. 

***

Uriel's visit has been unnerving, to say the least. At least she hasn't been much of a bother since he sat her down with a pile of books. He hasn't interacted with her much over the years but he's relieved that her general mythology seems to be accurate enough as far as her taste in literature goes. 

His most pressing concern is that Crowley might pop in, he's already tried calling both their numbers and only gotten an obnoxious beeping sound for his trouble.6 It takes an hour of fluttering nervously around Uriel before she gets a call and requests a place to take it in private.7

This is, unfortunately, when Crowley busts through the door with a dramatic, "Angel, you will not _believe_ the day I've had!"

Aziraphale, to his acute embarrassment, shrieks. And then quickly scrambles for some improvisation because there is no way Uriel didn't hear that. "CROWLEY! Foul fiend!" No that's too much like how he normally talks to them. Aziraphale has to find a way to subtly hint to what's going on. "M-my, mortal enemy! Dearly beloathed! Shoo, shoo, out of this angelic sanctuary!" 

Crowley has just enough time to blink at him and say, "Wot?" Before Uriel shoots out of the back room and slams the demon onto the floor, flaming sword pressed to their throat. At which point Crowley stops talking and instead performs an impressive rendition of a vocal keyboard smash. 

Aziraphale shrieks again, frantically fluttering his hands at the pair "Wait, wait! I’m sure we can talk this out let’s just -”

Uriel digs her fingers into the meat of Crowley's shoulder and presses the blade harder into their neck, the fire causing the demon to sizzle just a bit. "Demon. Tell me now, what have you done to Aziraphale?" 

"Hhhhhhhhgggggn?" Crowley asks her in return. Uriel shakes them roughly and they yelp back into the realm of people who can say words, "Done to him, what have I done to him? N - ah, uh, yeah. Plenty of horrible things, I'm sure, lots of demony things!" 

Uriel growls. 

Desperately trying to judge his own chances in a fight against Uriel, and concluding that they're very slim, Aziraphale starts babbling. "Crowley, Crowley you're really not helping your case here! I know, I know we shouldn't -" Shouldn't give anything away, shouldn't let their head offices catch wind of a forbidden six-thousand year friendship. But, but Uriel's holding a heavenly weapon and while it might not destroy Crowley in the same way holy water would, it can hurt them in a much deeper way than a mere discorporation. "Uriel, Uriel please, oh please let them go!" 

Aziraphale then gives Crowley a once over and hastily corrects, "Oh, I mean let her go, apologies, dear." 

Crowley makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze, "I-I literally just changed it this morning, Angel. Is now really the time??" 

Uriel rolls back off the demon with a hiss, eyes cold and sword pointed at Crowley's somewhat askew sunglasses. "Aziraphale. I won't kill her in front of you, but if she doesn't tell me what she's done there is no place in hell or on earth where I will not hunt her down." 

Crowley adopts the expression of someone who, if she bothered with such bodily functions, would currently be pissing herself. 

Aziraphale pales, "Ah, w-well, be that as it may. How about we discuss this in the back room?" 

Uriel growls and lowers the sword without miracling it away, marching to the back. Aziraphale and Crowley shuffle in awkwardly behind her, Crowley rubbing her neck and wincing. 

Not wanting to seat the two next to each other Aziraphale directs Uriel to his armchair and Crowley to the couch. Perching on the other end of the couch, hands fisted in front of him, Aziraphale speaks. "Now, ah, what seems to be the problem?" 

Uriel has compressed the very visible rage of a moment ago into a stoney chill. "The demon Crowley has been tormenting you in ways that have not been reported. Our sources have informed us of some of the tortures she's inflicted.” Uriel grimaces. “I assume that you did not inform us of these events either because of pride or because you are deeply in love with her." 

Both Aziraphale and Crowley transition in an instant from very pale to very very red, and in a moment of synchronously that can only be pulled off by two entities who have spent entirely too much time around one another, both shout -

"WOT?" 

***

And somewhere, deep in the third ring of hell, Hastur has been shouting into his own cracked flip phone for about ten minutes.8 “CROWLEY, CRAWLEY, YOU WIGGLY BASTARD, ANSWER YOUR PHONE!" 

Ligur, lurking in a nearby shadow, grunts. "Don't think they can hear you." 

Now, if you're wondering why either of these two give a passing shit whether or not Crowley is smote by a gang of Archangels, you need only look at their history. Blackmail and back ally favors are the backbone of many a demonic friendship, and Crowley and Hastur found out each other's deepest held secrets in the winter of 1480.9 Since then they've circled each other warily, suspicion broken up by spontaneous bouts of comradery assisted by copious amounts of alcohol.10

Hastur growls, snapping the phone closed. "Well, better go tell them in person then, shouldn't we! If they think they can squirm out of a-a, reprimand -" 

Ligur chuckles. "They'll be toast?" 

Hastur points at Ligur triumphantly, "Yeh, yeh! We'll set them on fire!" 

***

"Wait what? -"

"OH, Bugger." 

"- In love with??" 

Aziraphale turns to the demon11 mortification and guilt written clearly on his face. "Oh my dear, I am so terribly sorry, this is all my fault!" 

"Waht??" 

"I should have known that they would sense it, I wasn't thinking!” Aziraphale presses a hand to his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, “Oh I have just been so stupid!" 

Crowley's head jerks and her glasses, already crooked, fall into her lap. "What, no! I mean you're not stupid -- sensed what now?" 

Aziraphale is skirting the edge of hyperventilation, huffing hot breaths between his fingers. "W-Well you see, my dear, I only really I mean -” He sighs, hand trembling as he lowers it back into his lap and attempts to look Crowley in the face. “I fully realized in 1941, the church you know. But I think I’ve loved you for eons to be honest. You, you really are very dear to me, dearest, really.” Aziraphale sobs, “And, oh god. Everything's ruined now, if they know, what if they hurt you for, for my stupid feelings! Oh, I am so sorry." 

Red faced, trembling, Crowley takes one of Aziraphale's hands in hers. "I, um. You're my best friend, Angel. You, you know I love you more than anything, right? In every way, forever. And, and knowing you -” Crowley gasps, her own eyes watering as she gives Aziraphale a trembling smile. “I mean, that's gotta be worth a little smiting." 

Aziraphale's face lights up, and then they're hugging. And if they’re also still crying, well, no one would mention it. 

Uriel, scandalized, face scrunching against the twin waves of love emanating from the pair. "Are you crying?" 

The two spring apart, eyes snapping to Uriel. It's not that they'd forgotten she was there. It was just, well, they'd forgotten she was there. 

Uriel shakes her head, mouth drawn in a grim line. "This is our fault Aziraphale. I'm sorry we've done this. We abandoned you on earth and neglected you to the point where you would turn to a _demon_ for comfort, because it's all you have." Uriel's fists close over her knees and she leans forward "Even when she treats you badly. I can't take back what we have done but I can tell you that we will try our best to rectify our mistakes, you're not alone."  12

Aziraphale and Crowley, holding hands and unconsciously mimicking the body language of two teens who are being told by their parents that they're not allowed to date anymore, exchange equally befuddled looks. 

Eventually Crowley coughs, "I mean, not that I'm not flattered, whole evil reputation getting ahead of me and what not - but where in the seven circles of hell are you getting your information?"  13

*** 

It should now be noted that two groups have used the time between Michael's call and Crowley making a visit to the bookshop to drive their respective hysteria trains off a cliff. 

"Stabbed him??" Gabriel, under normal circumstances, would be much too upbeat and put together to go pale and squeaky. Normal Gabriel also harbored sound confidence in the fact that any angel under him would come to him first if they ever encountered a _true_ problem, they all know that he’s more than competent.  14

Michael nods, jaw tight and eyes just a shade overbright. 

Sandalphon, who is generally all for a good Holy stabbing, grimaces in disgust over the idea of a demonic one. "Why the love then? Seems a bit . . . odd." 

Gabriel looks lost, much like someone does when a tragedy has befallen someone they care about and they have no idea how to help. "Well. I, I suppose, we all like a bit of a bad boy?" He blinks and corrects, "A bad, individual."  15

Michael and Sandalphon stare at him blankly. 

"But not a fucking demon!" Gabriel wails. 

***

And in the basement, Hastur and Ligur are slinking to the elevator.

"Stabbed? You said Crowley bloody stabbed him???" 

Liver grunts and crosses his arms. "Oy, this is a lotta judgment from someone who's stabbed botha them at one point or another." Ligur considers for a moment. "Actually from someone who's stabbed me a few times too. And it's not like the angel told the bigwigs about that, so it was in character." 

Hastur makes a high pitched noise, "Non-lethally, you-you infant! And you know if Crowley stabbed his precious angel he'd probably walk into a church and get it over with." 

Ligur shrugs in a very 'well obviously' kind of way, everyone knows Crowley's is that type of dramatic. "Might be more useful to figure out what we're going to do about it than to start screeching" 

Hastur growls, "Not like we're actually going to do anything, don't even like the bastard." 

Ligur nods patiently. 

"Going to visit that bookshop and make the angel deal with it." 

Ligur hums and, in a disturbingly accurate Aziraphale impression, "Right-oh."

***

And in the heavens, Michael is pacing. 

"Let's be realistic about this. It's clear that Aziraphale is too enamored by this fiend to think rationally. Realistically, the demon could be doing absolutely anything to him right now and he'd do his best to keep a stiff upper lip." Michael possesses the impressive talent of being able to keep their tone sharp and reasonable as they spiral into catastrophizing. 

Gabriel starts crying. 

Doing his best to read the room, Sandalphon turns that smile upside-down. "So. We're going to get Aziraphale to tell us where the demon is and then smite it, right?" 

Michael spins on her heel and comes to an abrupt stop. "Of course." 

***

Uriel doesn't have time to formulate a response before two flares of occult and three flares of divine energy erupt from the front room. Uriel shoots to her feet half a second after Aziraphale and Crowley, who are holding hands tightly enough that their knuckles are white.

Crowley wheezes nervously "Welp. It's been nice knowing you, angel.” 

Aziraphale kicks Crowley in the shin and hisses "Think of something!" 

Uriel ignores them in favor of stalking out of the back room, sword held in a defensive position. To her acute annoyance the demon follows close behind, leading Aziraphale as they both attempt to hide behind Uriel and peek at whoever just appeared in the bookshop.

The front room is a mess, the three Archangels stand at the center of the room where the summoning circle is hidden under carpet. Their swords are drawn and pointed at the two demons who just emerged from the floor. Hastur looks a bit like he's about to have an aneurysm and Ligur is waving awkwardly to Michael. 

Michael is not paying attention to Ligur, the moment her eyes lock on Crowley she's snarling and attempting to lunge past Uriel to skewer the demon. Crowley and Aziraphale both shriek, Aziraphale attempting to push Crowley away from the attack as Crowley does the same, resulting in them knocking against each other. 

To everyone’s shock, Uriel calmly meets Michael's blade with her own. Gabriel and Sandalphon gasp in surprise. 

Uriel frowns. "Do you really think it's a good idea to destroy the demon in front of Aziraphale? We still don't really understand what's going on."

Hastur, at the word destroy, huffs a breathy little screech of his own. "CROWLEY, yo-you!" His eyes flick around the room as he hurriedly draws on every bit of creative skill that's rubbed off on him through frequent Crowley exposure to splutter. "A report! You have a report due, s-so say goodbye to the, the horrible angels, and we'll just…" Eyes falling on Aziraphale, Hastur experiences a brief moment of panic induced delirium "get a wiggle on." 

The room is silent for a moment, all four thousand two hundred twenty one eyes in the room focusing on Hastur.  16

The silence stretches on until Aziraphale breaks it with a little hum and a sharp clap of his hands. "Well! Dreadful business really, nothing to be done! Reports, oh goodness!" And with that he reclaims Crowley's hand and does a sort of crabwalk shuffle around the dramatically posed Archangels, a bemused Crowley trailing behind. Stopping at the heavily sweating Hastur Aziraphale hums in consideration before passing the frog demon Crowley's hand. "Oh, do be a dear and hold this for me." 

Crowley squawks, attempting to flail out of Hastur's grip which has tightened into iron out of shock. 

"What?? You can't - Angel, I'm not leaving you here!" 

Aziraphale smiles brightly at Crowley and leans forward to kiss her cheek. "Toodaloo love, best of luck with the paperwork!" And with that Aziraphale grabs both Crowley and Hastur by the tops of their heads, concentrates his power on the banishment, and pushes them both back into the ground. Stomping the floor where they disappeared for good measure he laces his hands behind his back and tries to find that strangely calm place beyond terror that lets one handle emergency situations as they’re happening. 

He fails to find it and the smile he directs at the five beings still in the bookshop is the fakest shakiest attempt at cheer he's ever delivered. "Well ah, how can I help you all today? Would anyone like some tea?" 

Things are only frozen for a second more before Aziraphale's personal boundaries are rudely violated by the absurd reality of Gabriel hugging him. Aziraphale squeaks and stiffens. 

Gabriel takes a moment to sniff a little and then pulls back to grip Aziraphale by the shoulders looking him in the eyes "Now, Aziraphale! If you'd just told us you were feeling lonely we could have hung out more! Invited you to more company events! Really, that you had to resort to the company of that _thing_ is a terrible failure on the whole department." Gabriel considers for a moment "We could even, you know, set you up? I think there's an angel in accounting who's pretty fussy. You'd get along!" 

"Ah, hmm." Aziraphale vocalizes, focusing Gabriel's mouth. Meeting those purple eyes was making him rather uncomfortable. 

Uriel and Michael, seeming to notice that they still have their blades out, quickly sheath them. Michael stalking briskly up to Aziraphale, Uriel a step behind. 

Michael circles Aziraphale, eyes giving him a once-over. "Are you injured?" 

Sandephon grumbles. "We let the demon get away, should I go after it?" 

Aziraphale splutters, takes a breath, splutters again, and then, in the voice of a being who has decided enough is enough screeches. "I am NOT injured, and you most certainly are NOT going after her!" Taking a step back out of Gabriel's grip he starts pacing and gesturing "This is ridiculous! This is completely ridiculous, more than that it's - it's, cliche!" Aziraphale throws his hands in the air, a look of genuine outrage on his face "I'll have you know! That Crowley has always been incredibly good to me! She is my very best friend, and my dearest love. Quite honestly she has been a much better friend than I've been at times, a better friend than any angel! A-and if any of you even, even think about harming her then I'll I'll - I'll never speak to you again!" 

Aziraphale's face has gone blotchy and red from rage and tears and he looks about a second away from trying to punch Gabriel in the nose. 

No one moves or speaks for a long drawn out second before Ligur gasps. "Wait, wot, you love Crowley back?" Ligur pauses for a moment, "I mean like, in the me-and Hastur-type way. Ur, not that that really matters, you tell Crowley she's your dearest love, romantic or not and she'll be over the moon for at least the next six-thousand years." 

Aziraphale blinks, a sort of blank dazed look overtaking the rage from a second ago. "Oh yes, we just, ah, confessed, as it were. Bungled it up a little honestly, wait, you - I mean I had no idea you returned Hastur's feelings, he has been quite the pine tree - as the kids say." 

Ligur frowns, "Wot, no, pretty sure we're married." 

Aziraphale gasps, "Pretty sure? My dear, does Hastur know?" 

Ligur is looking increasingly less calm and collected as horror starts clouding his face. "Well, we were pretty drunk, I suppose.'" 

Aziraphale gasps again, "My dear boy, go talk to your spouse!" And in a moment Ligur finds himself being gently shoved back into hell. 

And that brings us back to where we began, with four Archangels and one Principality. 

Aziraphale has been pingponged between a lot of extreme emotions today, at this point he is very tired and would like everyone to go away so he can curl up with a book and some biscuits. 

But this has to be taken care of first. 

He can’t look any of his superiors in the face right now so he directs his gaze to the ceiling. "If you feel it prudent to punish me for fraternization I believe my crimes are fairly evident at this point and I am prepared for the consequences." He is absolutely not, he has no idea what the punishment for this would even be. "If, however, you plan to step outside your disciplinary jurisdiction and hurt any of the demons I have been associating with I -” he clears his throat. “I will first do my best to defend those under my protection then, if I survive, I will do anything within my power to report you to a higher authority, and as a last resort I will attempt to defect from heaven. I'm never up for long but I hear the windows are still fairly breakable." He feels light-headed, his fingers are tingling, mouth moving on autopilot. 

Three of the Archangels gasp and Uriel's face pinches in concern. 

It’s Michael who speaks "Aziraphale, it’s clear that this is important to you. However you can't expect us to simply sit by while you’re being hurt. If it were a demon like Ligur or Dagon17 who you were involved with it would be one thing" 

Aziraphale throws his hands into the air, exasperated. "I really do not understand why that keeps being said, Crowley would certainly never hurt me! She is quite clever in her demonic schemes, but none of them are geared towards serious injury!" 

Michael hesitates, a pinch of doubt clouding their face. "I assure you, my sources indicate a much darker underbelly. The Spanish inquisition, the black plague, Columbus - all great human tragedies." Michael's face returns to righteous rage. "They also indicated that the demon has been hurting and threatening you specifically." Michael takes a step towards Aziraphale. "If you are being threatened or blackmailed we can protect you!" 

Aziraphale pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and flails the other. "Everyone knows your source is Ligur! Honestly, neither of you are at all subtle, at this point you're just friends who like to gossip!" 

Michael flushes, taking a step back. 

Aziraphale sucks in a breath and straightens, nerves visibly returning to his demeanor. "I have absolutely no idea why Ligur would say that Crowley is hurting me. Honestly, as much as this concerns me to admit, Crowley would likely do something quite unwise and self destructive if she thought she had injured me." Aziraphale wrings his hands glancing to the side "And as far as atrocities attributed to Crowley go, ah." Aziraphale looks up at Michael panic in his eyes and blurts, "They're balderdash! All of them, really, Beelzebub sees the humans doing something terrible and decides 'oh cheerio must be that wily old snake, no way they'd just just do that on their own, very evil!' Do you know how long it took to calm Crowley down after the Spanish Inquisition? I practically had to carry her out of the area, poor dear!” Mouth still running Aziraphale shouts, “she has more compassion than all of this room combined and I love her terribly for it!" 

All four Archangels flinch back, shock clear on their faces. 

Aziraphale starts pacing again. "It is honestly quite rich hearing you talk about atrocities!" He points at Sandalphon, voice going shrill "You destroyed two cities! And turned people into salt! Do you know how many times I've been called a sodomite because of that codswallop!?” Swinging wildly from the original point Aziraphale starts airing the dirty laundry of his feelings towards his superiors. “I know we might view death a little differently from humans because we know what happens to them afterwards, but for them it is terrifying! They only get one life and it matters incredibly to them! Honestly, you would all be considered serial killers down here. And Crowley, who is a demon by the way! Would not! Because she cares about them, just like she cares about me and her children and her coworkers and - and the world!" Aziraphale stops to pant, terror slowly clouding his face as he comes to terms with the reality of what he just screamed at four of his bosses. 

Uriel speaks next, hesitantly, like she's mulling over each syllable. "When the demon -" she hesitates again "When Crowley said that she loved you. I could feel it. It felt too strong to be real. I thought it must be some kind of trick." She glances at the other three, "I believe Aziraphale." 

The Archangels glance at each other, embarrassment quickly permeating the room as they come to terms with their misunderstanding. 

Michael coughs, "I, see. Apologies for the confusion." 

Aziraphale is very quiet, exhausted. "I’m, well, obviously not the one you should be apologizing to." 

Michael nods. Gabriel and Uriel suddenly find their shoes very interesting. Not knowing what else to say they slowly start shuffling back into the summoning circle. 

"Wait." Aziraphale, still sounding tired, "Thank you. For your concern. I don’t -" he pauses, sighs. "I don't wish to be around you as long as you hold certain opinions on those I love. But. It is nice that you care. I did not know that you did, and I do love you just a little bit for it." He closes his eyes, opens them again. "Well! Do be off then, shoo! Shoo! Reevaluate some things, come to some deep revelations and all that! Pip-pip!" 

And so they leave, to take time to evaluate themselves, and each other, and their relationship with hell, and to come to some deep heaven shattering revelations.

****

Crowley is absolutely beside herself. As soon as she fights free of Hastur, she tries to bolt back to earth, only to be tackled by Ligur. Who completely ignores her struggling and screeching as he sits on her and pins her arms behind her back, looking up at a sweating and bruised Hastur. "You do know we're married right?" 

Hastur stares at the lizard blankly for a second and then stumbles back with a squawk "WHAT??" 

Ligur groans, "Vagus, 1964. I should have realized you were too hammered to remember." 

Hastur stares at him some more "What????" 

Ligur grunts, shaking his head. "We've been going steady for at least four thousand years, you can be a smart bastard but sometimes you miss the obvious." 

Hastur blinks, blinks again, and then relaxes. "Oh. Well that's alright then." 

Crowley wails. "Yes! This is very touching, so glad you worked that all out, it has been painful as hell to watch! Now please let me go rescue Aziraphale!" 

Hastur and Ligur speak in the type of unison achieved by two beings who've been going steady for four thousand years: "Kettle, black." 

Crowley wails again as Hastur fishes his phone out of his pocket to squint at the time."We'll give your angel twenty minutes to sort all that out then let you go." He tucks the phone back into a shabby pocket. "You really do need to get your next report in to Dagon. You can have the angel write it for you if he’s still alive.”

Crowley starts crying. Ligur and Hastur ignore her and settle into the calm feeling of lurking with someone you love. 

**** 

Crowley refuses to leave the bookshop for a month, terrified that the Archangels will have a change of heart and will come to punish them. Aziraphale doesn't mind this at all, relishing the comfort of living with someone he hopes will very soon be his spouse. Eventually though he does have to acknowledge that it's getting a bit ridiculous and takes a trip with the demon to retrieve his belongings and miracle the plants back to life. 

In front of Crowley's door is a pile of baskets, some disturbingly like the one handed to him eleven years before the failed and forgotten apocalypse. But some are covered in domed plastic, clearly showing things like bath bombs and chocolates. 

The unlikely couple stare at the offerings, and then Aziraphale leans down to examine one of the many notes attached to various wicker handles. "It says, ‘Terribly sorry.’ and it's signed ‘Michael.’" 

Crowley takes on the glassy eyed look of someone in dire need of a shock blanket. "Hhmmgnk." 

Aziraphale pats his shoulder reassuringly, "Oh do buck up, I think I see some boxed wine that we can miracle up into something a little more sophisticated." He considers for a moment, "I do imagine this has something to do with Dagon calling me to ask what I did to convince heaven to propose a peace treaty. Both sides have been significantly less warmongery these last few weeks." 

Crowley nods slowly, the mention of heaven and their friendly relationship with war18 bringing him a bit back to reality, "Still a bunch of wankers, though." 

Aziraphale purses his lips at the aforementioned boxed wine. "Quite." 

* 1\. Until you start imagining increasingly ridiculous scenarios. Worlds where everyone’s a raccoon, or a tree, or everyone hates Cheetos - and then you slowly spiral into the question of whether any of your choices in life matter if cosmically you’ve made every decision there is to make. [ ▲ ]

* 2\. We specify _complete_ because a universe where Gabriel is a honestly stand up being is a bit too difficult to stomach. [ ▲ ]

* 3\. Or in this case, love. [ ▲ ]

* 4\. Were Uriel to write a resume her list of skills and accomplishments, it would include but not be limited to:

* \- Intimidation  
\- Intimidation but more physically violent  
\- Throwing disturbing amounts of blood around in a wildly successful attempt to spawn churches  
\- Holding a flaming sword with much more casual confidence than Aziraphale ever managed  
\- Providing comfort4a  
\- Assassination  
\- Frequenting the ocasional lesbian bar on earth4b  
\- Writing half decent poetry complementing Michael’s jawline 

* 4a. And by this we mean awkwardly patting Aziraphale on the back after the first human died. He was a bit of a mess after Abel. 

* 4b. We’re counting this as an accomplishment based on Uriel’s inability to pop in for a quick drink without inspiring at least one declaration of love or amateur poetry. [ ▲ ]

* 5\. Not literally bloody, but not for lack of creative suggestions. [ ▲ ]

* 6\. A real shame that the mobile network was down again, completely coincidental, freak event really. [ ▲ ]

* 7\. Well, requests. Her actual words are, "You are not supposed to hear this.” And proceeded to stare at him expectantly until he directed her to the back room. [ ▲ ]

* 8\. The gift of a flip phone had been Crowley's idea of a joke, a reference to how behind the times Hastur is. A joke that flew over Hastur's head as he threatened the snake into showing him how all the buttons work. [ ▲ ]

* 9\. The whole ‘hopeless pining’ thing is often more easily recognized by beings who are themselves hopelessly pining.9a

* 9a. They also came to an Arrangement: Crowley finds a few human horrors every decade or so for Hastur to take credit for. In exchange Hastur grudgingly agreed to stop murdering people.9b

* 9b. With the exception of Nazis and billionaires. [ ▲ ]

* 10\. Ligur and Aziraphale have formed their own truce during these bizarre outings, and what started as Ligur lurking in the shadows to give Crowley's little angel a good spook has slowly transformed into them sharing tea and office gossip. [ ▲ ]

* 11\. Who looks a bit like someone who's just been hit by a truck and hasn't fully processed it yet. [ ▲ ]

* 12\. While Uriel has never actually been to an intervention, she has read quite a lot of poetry about sorrow and making amends with one's self and others. [ ▲ ]

* 13\. The literal seven circles of hell she means, it's not as if she's been telling any humans of her dastardly deeds. Well, not many humans anyways, and not when sober, and not - it doesn't matter anyway, archangels don't gossip with humans. [ ▲ ]

* 14\. In reality, if someone has an issue that requires the assistance of an Archangel, the standard order of who they'll first go to is Michael, Uriel, Gabriel, and then Sandalphon.14a

* 14a. At least in most problems, in the case of 'I would like someone stabbed but I don't want to say that outright' the order is Sandalphon, Uriel, and then Michael.14b

* 14b. The one case in which someone will go to Gabriel first is when they’re looking for petty revenge. It’s a simple enough procedure, they’ll let Gabriel know that their enemy is feeling down and ask him to give the unfortunate angle a pep talk. At which point they’ll find a place to watch and laugh as Gabriel pulls off some very impressive and entirely accidental schoolyard bullying. [ ▲ ]

* 15\. It is quite unfortunate that the term “bad boy” brings up the image of a fiercely independent and rebellious individual whereas the term “bad girl” brings to mind someone trying to get back at their father - and there's no real gender neutral equivalent at all. [ ▲ ]

* 16\. God was really proud of eyes when she first created them, eyes and wings, copy pasted them all over her first drafts. [ ▲ ]

* 17\. Dagon is stationed firmly in paperwork, which Michael assumes would be something Aziraphale would be into17a

* 17a. She's right, once Hastur and Ligur gave up serial killing in exchange for the depressing career of being Crowley’s wingmen Dagon stopped pretending the discrepancy in Crowley’s paperwork wasn't obvious and started insisting that Aziraphale take over Crowleys reports full-time. [ ▲ ]

* 18\. Who is 100% suing heaven for breach of contract. [ ▲ ]

**Author's Note:**

> Find me over at [munchmulch](https://munchmulch.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Extra Inspiration [here](https://munchmulch.tumblr.com/post/190284827270/trickster-archangel-still-not-over-this) & [here](https://munchmulch.tumblr.com/post/189304791035/suii-ne-buddy-thats-rough-buddy)


End file.
